150 Steps...In the Present Moment

"What do you do?" It's what grownups ask each other by way of a greeting because we so often identify ourselves by what we do professionally. "I'm a stay-at-home-mom," I reply. And if I'm meeting someone who is not another SAHM, but instead a member of the "working world" that statement is often met with a blank look or a tepid, "Oh, well, that's nice."  So, then I add, "Oh, and I'm also a writer." At this point the non-SAHM perks up with a, "Oh! Really? What do you write?" Apparently learning about what I write is more interesting than hearing stories about making snacks, wiping butts, and hanging out with my 3.5 year-old daughter. "I write a blog and I'm working on my first novel," and then I add with a laugh, "which is languishing in my laptop." So there it is. I'm a writer. Of sorts. Truth be told I have not worked on my novel in earnest since my daughte

"It's a LOT of togetherness," I often hear myself saying in conversation when I'm talking about my life as a stay-at-home-mom. "A LOT of togetherness." I wouldn't have it any other way. But, man, is it ever a lot of togetherness. Oy. Here's the thing that you aren't supposed to say about being a stay-at-home-mom: Being a stay-at-home-mom is kind of driving me crazy. Don't get me wrong...I LOVE my daughter. I love love love love love her. I love her like I've never loved anybody. It's an intense, crazy, deep love that makes me ache when I look at her. How did I get so lucky to be the mom of this amazing person??? When I see her wicked smile and her dimple. Omigod...the dimple. It's the cutest dimple EVER. And I hear her laugh. Pure joy. It fills me up. I know that I am the luckiest mom on the planet. Bar none. Really. But then she has one of her spectacular meltdowns. Omigod. The meltdowns. Brutal. For both of us. 

"I DON'T WANT YOU!" my three and a half year-old daughter roars, fists clenched at her sides, body rigid, tears and snot coating her face. "I DON'T WANT YOU!" she roars again mid-meltdown then jumps up and down screaming at the top of her lungs. I hardly recognize this enraged little person. 95% of the time my kid is joyful, happy, hilarious, and extremely kind. But that other 5% of the time. Meltdowns.  Spectacular, epic, blow-the-roof-off meltdowns. Filled with rage.  In the midst of these spectacular epic meltdowns my normally super affectionate, loving, huggy girl directs all of her rage at me.  "What can I do for you?" I ask her in my calmest voice. "What can I do for you?" "NOTHING! GET AWAY FROM ME!" she shrieks, body still rigid, fists still clenched and eyes now closed as if the very sight of me is just too much to bear. She rejects my attempts to comfort her. She rejects me with every fiber of her